Game of Thrones and the Enduring Sting of Anti-Climax

The travesty of Game of Thrones’ final two seasons still looms in psyches half of a decade later

HBO

Some might say that five years is a long enough time to stop lamenting over the final two seasons of Game of Thrones. But for more faithful fans of the groundbreaking show, the recent re-emergence of its two creators with the release of Netflix’s 3 Body Problem has meant a painful wound reopened.

In life, it’s the people we love the most who we miss the most deeply when they’re gone. When they live long and meaningful lives, it can be easier to accept their loss. But when their lives are squandered or they die tragically, it can leave the world that goes on without them in limbo. The same is often true of the great shows and movies.

The ending of Game of Thrones is still a sore spot for many because it achieved some of the greatest heights that a television show ever has. For the conclusion to be anything less than awe-inspiring was always bound to disappoint. The anti-climax viewers got when the time came stands for many as the criminal frustration of the century. People felt robbed of the denouement they earned — denied the birthright resolution that should always come with a series committed to so completely.

Simply said, the faithful fans of Westeros deserved better. Game of Thrones was the rare show to achieve phenomenon status. It seemed almost to transcend the word “show” entirely. Nearly every character was so deeply embedded into the lure of the land that they came equipped with motives and expansive family trees. The canon is as intricate as any history lecture, as South Park comically illustrated.

The most religious Thrones aficionados gave the show the better part of a decade to properly unfurl — for each character’s arc to finally meet a satisfying end. They were never going to forgive creators David Benioff and D.B. Weiss overnight after the disaster that befell audiences in the show’s final two acts. Of course, George R. R. Martin hardly did the two directors any favors by never providing them a culmination to his story.

Game of Thrones was the prodigy poised to change the world, but instead sacrificed everything for a life of crime. It was the genius whose mind housed paradigm-shifting ideas, yet whittled them away to satiate a drug addiction.

It’s the stars that shine most brightly that are most sorely missed. It’s the shows that break new ground that we grieve most deeply when they’re gone. When they lose their essence or remain alive in soulless, vegetative states, we struggle to look at them the same.

When lives and projects are prolonged unnaturally or ceased unceremoniously, the world around them is left in a sort of purgatory. The righteous ending to Game of Thrones is something we can only wonder about. No matter how many fans sign the Change.org petition demanding that the wrongs in the writing are rectified, loose threads will continue hanging and sloppily sealed seams will remain botched.

If the first Harry Potter movie had met a tepid reception, we might never have seen a second, third, fourth, or eighth. Life-changing scenes would never have come to fruition. We would have never gotten a glimpse into Alfonso Cuarón’s connected conception of the storied campus. We would have never seen David Yates’ climactic close to the saga. The name “Harry Potter” wouldn’t command nearly the power that it does. It would be a fleeting footnote in the world of film rather than an entire chapter.

If Breaking Bad never stuck its landing after fans devoted five years to the show, it wouldn’t hold the place in history that it does. We would commiserate over what could have been. Every rewatch would be laced with the gnawing expectation of the quality dip to come.

Before the Game of Thrones saga settled, it was a sprawling story I was happy to revisit almost tri-annually. It was a show in which I discovered new details poking through the surface each new time I watched it. I reveled in the minutiae. I took pride in the titbits of trivia when they all still seemed pointed toward a greater end. The knowledge had a compounding effect, where each new bit of information gleaned added value to each subsequent hour spent with the show.

Learning the lineages of families made each character come to life and added nuance to each of their motives. The complex chemistry and pre-existing relationships all left the distinct impression for viewers that Westeros was a lived-in world. And more than a lived-in world, it was a world in which people died. It was a world with true stakes at play.

When nearly every show and movie throughout history has tended toward an ever-triumphant band of good guys, one of the ways in which Game of Thrones differentiated itself most meaningfully was in driving home the reality that even our most beloved protagonists were never safe. The characters viewers loved most were never immune to the chopping block, as Ned Stark so brutally learned. There was no plot twist the show seemed unwilling to take.

There was no character on-screen that felt safe from vicious slaughter. The Hollywood safeguard that protects our heroes was nowhere to be seen throughout the show’s first five seasons.

But by the time that season seven arrived, it was clear the writing had begun growing lazy. What felt like a graceful marathon, with each step meticulously planned, began appearing more and more like a mad dash toward the finish line.

With so many cherished characters gone from the story’s arc already, the few remaining began to survive increasingly implausible scenarios. Ex-machina moments abounded with comical frequency. A realm it once took entire seasons to traverse was suddenly reduced to the apparent size of a Monopoly board.

Game of Thrones was the rare show that could likely have remained on TV for an entire decade without losing vigor. The story’s downfall wasn’t the descent into a stale oblivion that more and more shows succumb to these days. To close each plot Weiss and Benioff had laid out properly would have demanded no less than ten seasons. To conclude the show in a mere eight — while abbreviating the final two, no less — is a decision that still ails and perplexes fans.

The world’s keenest, most diplomatic characters began to behave foolishly, while the world’s greatest, most confounding threats were dispatched easily. Mystery all fell by the wayside. By the time the eighth season pulled into the finish line, the lifeblood of the show had been cruelly drained from its every orifice. It descended into something cheap, contrived, and Hollywood. It made a tragic “if only” out of a show that once seemed poised to stick the most impressive landing ever aired on TV.

When the Westerosi canon crumbled, it rendered a thousand factoids useless in one fell swoop. It made years of memorization that could have been devoted to history classes into something that felt void and meaningless. Whatever value Game of Thrones once had to people, they were forced to let go of like a spouse who cheated ten times too many. The love for Westeros was no more. Every fond memory fans once shared of the show was tainted by the shiny neon asterisk that now sat beside it.

There was no conversation about the show that felt complete without a mention of those heinous final two seasons. A bad ending might sour a fan’s appreciation of the story that led to that final terminus. But it’s only the most atrocious conclusions that render appreciation of a world into an all but moot point — the notorious Lost’s and Dexter’s of TV history.

However difficult, fans of the once-great Game of Thrones will just need to continue moving through life one climactic finale short of fulfilled. House of the Dragon can try to make matters right, but loyalists to the realm will always wonder what could have been if Benioff and Weiss hadn’t betrayed their most sacred oath.

Originally Published on Medium